


If It's Meant To Be

by WhyDoIWrite



Series: Conversations in the Dark [2]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Engaged, F/F, Flashbacks, Friendship that faded, Is it the end or just the beginning?, It’ll be fine, Maybe they still are, NWSL, Retirement, USWNT, a little angsty, divorced, finding their way back, sleepover, they were in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:15:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24809860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDoIWrite/pseuds/WhyDoIWrite
Summary: Lindsey feels like everything that's ever mattered to her in her life is coming to an end.Set approximately 8 years in the future.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Series: Conversations in the Dark [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795090
Comments: 21
Kudos: 125





	If It's Meant To Be

  
**CONVERSATIONS IN THE DARK**

**(ON THE BALCONY)**

_Maybe we do,  
_ _Maybe we don't.  
_ _Maybe we will,  
_ _Maybe we won't._  
_If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be,  
_ _Baby, just let it be._

Ten years ago, if someone had looked her square in the eyes and told her that there would come a time when she wouldn’t know every detail of Sonnett’s life, that months would pass without the two of them talking, Lindsey would have stared that person down, fire in her eyes, and then burst into laughter. Doubled-over, room-filling, belly-aching laughter. 

Emily Sonnett. 

Her best friend. 

In the entire world.

Impossible. 

Ten years ago, they had won a League Championship only their second year in, and the subsequent season was shaping up to be equally stellar. They were headed to the playoffs again. Together. Ten years ago, they were invincible. Inseparable. Unbreakable. 

But then there was the trade.

A National Team “retirement.”

A marriage.

They never made their way back to each other like they promised they would on that fateful day in January. That day, when through tears, they swore that Merritt and Mark and the league and USSF and 3037 miles couldn't keep them apart forever.

Nothing happened... except life. They never could quite get it right. 

They just sort of faded.

And now, 1404 miles lie between them.

* * *

A gust of wind sends a shiver through Lindsey. It feels like Denver might see its first snowfall before the end of the regular season this year. She likes cold games. She likes cold weather. But right now, she's chilled to the bone, despite her puffer jacket and beanie. She shoves her hands a little deeper into her pockets, fingers brushing that damn stone that's been there for years.

_A stone, worn flat by falling water, that Sonnett picked up years ago on a hike just outside of Portland. She slipped it in Lindsey's pocket as they travelled up the path, and Lindsey gave her a weird look. "What? I like it," Sonnett scrunched up her eyebrows at the judgement on Lindsey's face. "It's smooth. Like me." Lindsey rolled her eyes. Sonnett forgot it when she left. Lindsey never had the heart to remove it from her pocket. It serves as a reminder every winter of what ended up being the last time they went on a hike together._

Her mind drifts to Sonny; it always does when she’s out in nature like this. Something about the silence frees up enough space to let the sounds of Sonny’s laugh creep in. Something about the solitude makes her miss Sonny even more in these moments than she normally does, that dull ache in her stomach extra noticeable. When Lindsey thinks about what she wishes she could change, what she wishes she had done differently, about her biggest regrets in life, Sonny is at the forefront always. She’ll be in Denver in a few days, for their game. Lindsey hasn’t seen her since they played in Atlanta in May. The season is wrapping up now, but that day seems so long ago. 

There’s that typical sadness sitting in Lindsey's chest, that sadness that comes with the end of a season. The empty feeling that starts sinking in before it’s even over. But this time, it seems different. More pronounced. Desperation woven in. It’s not just the impending end of the season; it’s that they’re both nearing the end of their careers. 

Lindsey bends down and scoops Fergy up. He loves his walks still, but some days, it’s too much for his aging legs. Especially on chilly days like today. His adidas sweatshirt does little to keep his hind hips and knees warm, but she can’t not take him for a hike when he’s the one dragging his leash to her. Their hikes used to consist of an endless loop of Fergy sprinting ahead and turning back to wait for Lindsey to catch up. Now, when he does walk, he stays right at her heels. She walks a little slower for him. His light coat hides his age, but he is aging. She doesn’t know which hike will be his last.

She wants to call Sonnett, for no reason. Just to hear her voice. Just to talk about nothing and everything like they used to. She wants to invite Sonnett to stay at her condo instead of at the team hotel. A sleepover. Just like old times. In case it's the last time. Sonnett’s engaged to a wonderful woman. It almost seems inappropriate. They’re friends and it shouldn’t be. But if it's not, it feels like it will be soon.

So many lasts. Except no one ever tells you that they're lasts, and you don't realize it until it's too late, Lindsey thinks.

Lindsey has this fear grinding low in her gut that she’s running out of time. Like once soccer is over for them – for even one of them – the last remaining frayed thread holding them together will break. She tilts her head up to the sky. It definitely looks like it’s going to snow soon.

New beginnings.

But so many more endings seem just ahead on the horizon.

The feeling doesn’t go away once she’s back in her condo; rather it intensifies to a gnawing sensation. To a boiling point. To a level where it can’t be ignored any longer. She pours herself a glass of wine and steps out onto her balcony, barefoot. Wrapped in a blanket, legs tucked under, Lindsey watches the light fade along the horizon. She thinks about how she never watched a sunset with Sonnett. Sunrises aplenty from the balcony of her condo in Portland, but never a sunset. It seems odd to have spent all that time together without watching the end of the day. 

Just another should have.

She picks up her phone and stares at Sonnett's contact. Almost out of habit, a habit entrenched so deeply in her that it doesn't matter how long it's been between calls, her thumb drifts up to the FaceTime button. Part of her doesn’t expect Sonnett to pick up, but the second her face appears, soft smile filling the screen, years of memories come flooding back.

_The years of hiding and scaring each other in hotel rooms. Of mornings with avocado toast and midnights with wine on a balcony just like this. Of finding any way possible to annoy Sonny because Sonny is one of the only people on the planet, Lindsey thinks, who will smile and laugh when she’s annoyed. Of watching each other more than the movie playing in the background. Of flashes of skin and light touches that felt like shockwaves. Of the ridiculousness of their socially distance scavenger hunts and conversations and meals during the Challenge Cup. Of all the sneaking around in the dark. Of trophies and medals and celebrations. Of three FaceTimes a day that faded to two and then one and then sometimes and then almost never._

One of these days, would a FaceTime be their last? And would Lindsey feel it? And know in her heart?

"Yo, Linds." 

It's like nothing ever changed.

Lindsey's eyes light up, matching the brightness in Sonnett's. "Hi," she starts, not knowing what else to say. And then she adds softly, shyly almost. "I miss you." Sonnett just shakes her head a little and winks. She doesn't say it back. Typical. 

They fall back into conversation like nothing's changed. Like they're still Linessi and Dasani Lindsey's die-hard Arsenal affliction. Sonnett's loyalty to whichever team Son is playing for. Still. Because otherwise, she doesn't care much about the EPL at all. The shows they're binging and the teammates and coaching decisions driving them insane. How their parents are doing. Their aches and pains. The pranks Sonnett is still playing on rookies. This late in the season and they haven't figured her out. Like muscles unused, Lindsey's cheeks hurt from smiling so much because she hasn't had reason to smile like this in ages. The conversation turns to the weather. "It's cold here. Like really cold already. It's gonna snow. Pack accordingly because I know how sensitive you are." 

Sonnett grins and rolls her eyes. "I've been checking the weather every day, Linds. It's not gonna snow. I'm not that lucky." 

She forgot how much Sonnett loves snow. Cold, not so much, but snow brings out her inner child more than normal. More memories flood back,

_A Denver visit when Lindsey and Russell had broken up. Of snow angels and snowmen. Of a trip to the grocery store in an almost-blizzard because Lindsey didn't have a carrot and Sonnett thought that was the most ridiculous thing in the world - who doesn't have carrots at, like, all times? Of snowball fights that led to squeals of laughter and eventually devolved into tackling and wrestling. Of coffee mixed with hot chocolate and Sonnett's homemade marshmallows because "they're so much fun. You can flavor them and cut them into shapes." Of pink noses and rosy cheeks and cuddling under layers of blankets and "you really should get a condo with a fireplace, Linds." But so much cuddling. So much skin. So much heat. So much love. So much fear._

Lindsey can’t help but wonder what else she’s forgotten.

"Whatever," Lindsey shakes her head. "You don't live here. I feel it."

"You feel it in your bones, Grandma?" Sonnett teases.

Lindsey ignores her. "You really should come back in the Spring. We'll go skiing. All of us. Teal, too."

Sonnett gets this distant looks in her eyes. Lindsey catches it right before she turns away to stare at a wall or out the window. Lindsey doesn't know which, just anywhere but the screen in front of her. "Yeah, for sure," she mumbles, and it sounds anything but sure. "It's been awhile. Wanna snowboard, actually." Sonnett turns back to her phone. "I should probably get some sleep."

It's then that Lindsey finally notices the bags under Sonnett's eyes. "Yeah, yeah, sure. I'm sorry." She didn't expect for Sonnett to ever stay on the phone with her as long as she did anyway. She feels bad for pulling her away from her fiancé all evening. 

"Night, Linds."

"Wait!" Lindsey almost shouts. She didn't ask the one thing she wanted to ask. She can't let Sonnett go quite yet. "When you come on Friday, wanna stay here with me instead of at the hotel?" Sonnett just blinks at her, like she can't process the question. The time passes, Lindsey holding her breath, waiting for an answer that doesn't seem like it's going to come. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. Maybe she should have known it was a no. It’s not like Sonnett has invited her to stay over in Atlanta since she started dating Teal. It’s not like she ever invited Sonnett to stay in Denver when Russell was in the picture. 

"Linds- "

"It's ok if you need to ask her first. I get it. You don't have to tell me now, but, well, just ask her." Sonnett looks away from the phone again. "I just feel like we're running out of time, Dasani."

Sonnett's eyes shoot back to the screen, brow furrowed this time. Her lips part, like she's going to ask what Lindsey means by that, but then there's a click of recognition. Is it possible that Sonnett feels it too? "Yeah. Maybe. Night." And just like that, her face is gone. 

* * *

Truth be told, Lindsey never expected Sonnett to show up. She never called back. Never texted. Not even a “Hey, I’m in Denver” text. So when she turns out of the elevator to find Sonnett sitting against her door, shocked doesn’t even begin to cut it. “How did you- ”

“You don’t know my address. _I_ send you a Christmas card every year, remember?” Sonnett asks, extending her arms so Lindsey can help her up. 

“But how’d you get up here?”

“Oh. I followed someone into the elevator. She used her fob and then I pushed your floor. You really should look into a place with better security.” Lindsey notices that has her bags. 

“You staying?” Lindsey asks, trying to keep her voice steady. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

“Lord willing and the crick don’t rise,” Sonnet smirks, following Lindsey into her condo. 

“I don’t even know what that means,” Lindsey complains. “You’re like, more hick since you’ve moved back there permanently.”

Sonnett laughs at the expression on Lindsey’s face, her nose crinkled like she’s disgusted. “Missed your judgement.”

Lindsey finally gets a chance to really look at her. The bags under her eyes are still there, and there are new wrinkles on the tops of her cheeks. The lines around her mouth are deeper and there are more freckles. But her eyes are still bright and she’s still Sonnett. She’s still beautiful. So Goddamn beautiful that Lindsey thinks maybe this was a bad idea after all. But then Sonnett’s plopped down on her couch and already has the remote in her hand, and she’s talking a mile a minute. Explaining what she meant – how Lindsey probably will kick her out after Atlanta knocks them out of playoff contention tomorrow afternoon. Describing the turbulence on her flight coming into Denver. Rattling off the list of shows she’s willing to watch on Netflix. And asking what Lindsey’s planning on ordering for dinner, because Sonnett knows damn well Lindsey still hasn’t learned how to cook. Lindsey can’t help but laugh to herself as she stares at Sonny, her mouth slightly agape. She looks so comfortable there. Like she belongs. Like she never left. 

“It’s past my bedtime,” Sonnett yawns. 

From the opposite end of the couch, Lindsey looks at her. She wanted to sit closer. Wanted to cuddle under the same blanket. Wanted to put her feet in Sonnett’s lap or for Sonnett to lie down in hers. Instead of any of that, she reminded herself that her friend is engaged, and stayed as far away as possible. “It’s 9, Grandma.”

“It’s 11 at home,” Sonnett shoots back. “Move. Or you’re gonna end up with half of my body on you.” 

The thought of that makes Lindsey feel hot all over. She doesn’t budge. Sonnett doesn’t back down. Before Lindsey can even re-center herself, Sonnett’s shaken her hair out of its bun and her head is in Lindsey’s lap and she’s making these soft sounds as she gets comfy. 

“You can finish the movie. I’ve already seen it and it won’t keep me up. But,” she reaches over her head searching for Lindsey’s hand. Maybe Lindsey helps her find it. Sonnett threads her fingers through Lindsey’s for a moment, running her thumb along Lindsey’s. And then she puts Lindsey’s hand on her head. “Rub my head. It helps me fall asleep.”

Lindsey swallows hard and begins running her fingers through Sonnett’s hair. It’s like her body remembers this. All of this. The pressure on her thigh, the contented sounds as her nails scrape lightly against Sonnett’s scalp, how feathery soft her hair feels in Lindsey’s fingers. And Lindsey can’t help but be filled with sadness because what if this is the last time? The last time they watch a movie that they don’t watch. The last time Sonnett falls asleep in her lap. The last time she gets to run her hands through that golden hair. Her brain remembers the pain, too. The pain of that loss so long ago. “You can sleep in my bed, Son,” she says softly. “I’ll take the couch.”

Sonnett rolls over in her lap and stares up at her for a moment. Her gray eyes bore into Lindsey in the best way possible. In a way that makes her heart lurch in her chest and pound in her ears. “Why would you sleep on the couch?” she asks, her eyebrows doing that cute little confused scrunch.

It shocks Lindsey, that question. She doesn’t know how to respond to it. And then in dawns on her that Sonnett probably never asked Teal anything, because if she had, she wouldn’t be in Lindsey’s lap right now, and Lindsey’s not going to be any part of that. She shifts uncomfortably under the weight of Sonnett’s head. She calls her friend out on it. 

Sonnett chuckles, but there’s a bitterness behind it. “That’s not it, not at all,” she insists.

“Then what is it?” Lindsey demands to know. 

She feels Sonnett’s body stiffen. She rolls back over, eyes glued on the TV. “I called off the engagement,” she says hoarsely. 

Lindsey can’t even believe what she’s hearing. They seemed good together, but then again, Lindsey has no idea what goes on in Sonnett’s life on a daily basis. “When?”

“A month ago? Little more, maybe? I don’t know. It’s doesn’t matter. She moved out.”

Lindsey can’t believe that Sonnett didn’t tell her. They were best friends for so long and now they’re so distant that this big thing happened and Sonnett didn’t even tell her. “Why?” Lindsey asks, tears filling her eyes as the realization of just how disconnected they’ve become sinks in.

Sonnett sits up and rubs her face. She plops her feet in Lindsey’s lap, but she fiddles with her fingers nervously. She starts with a sigh. “You know how sometimes, you just know it’s not right? Like no matter how wonderful a person is, no matter how much they love you, no matter how good they are, you just realize that they’re just not it? Like you love the person, but you’re not in love with the person?”

“Mmhmm,” Lindsey murmurs, but she doesn’t really know. Because Russell was not good and Russell was not kind. Russell didn’t love her and she neither loved him nor was in love with him. It was just desperate infatuation and misplaced need for external validation. 

“A lot of people have called me selfish,” Sonnett continues. “As if I’m over it because it’s not new and shiny and exciting anymore. That’s not it,” Sonnett says, like she’s experienced at trying to convince people of it. “I just don’t want to settle. I want a connection. A deep connection. Lasting passion. I- I believe that it exists. _More_ exists. And if I married her, I’d be stuck forever because I don’t believe in- ” Sonnett stops herself.

“In divorce,” Lindsey flinches as she finishes Sonnett’s sentence. She starts to apologize, but Lindsey interrupts her. “Why didn’t you tell me, Son?”

“Didn’t want to bother you.”

Lindsey reaches across the middle cushion of the couch and covers Sonnett’s hand with hers. It kills her that that’s what Sonnett thinks of their friendship. “You never bother me. Ever. I will always be here for you. I would drop anything for you. You flew across the country for me when I got divorced, and I didn’t even love him. I- I- I would have been there for you.”

Emily’s head hangs low as rubs at the back of her neck. “You were still crushed though. And I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t take away all your pain. I didn’t even _do_ anything.”

“You did do something. You sat next to me. There was nothing anyone could’ve said at that point in my life that would have fixed me, but you sat there. You stayed. You eased my _soul_.” Lindsey watches a lone tear trickle down Sonnett’s cheek. She can’t take it, how much her friend is hurting. “God, Dasani, come here,” she pulls Sonnett into her arms, wraps her up in the tightest hug she can muster, and they’re both crying, tears mixing on each other’s cheeks.

“I missed you, Linds. So much,” Sonnett whispers into her hair.

They finally make their way to bed, but Lindsey shies away, staying on her side, still not quite knowing where the stand. 

“Why are you so far away,” Sonnett whispers. It comes out as whine. It’s needy. It’s that sound Lindsey can’t resist. “Can you just hold me tonight?” Lindsey covers the space between them in a split second. Her arm drapes across Sonnett’s waist protectively as Sonnett scoots back into her, leaving no space between them. Lindsey’s body remembers, remembers the last time that wasn’t the last time. 

* * *

When she wakes up in the morning, she doesn’t even have to open her eyes to know Sonnett’s gone. The warmth is gone, the weight on the bed is gone, the sound of her breathing is gone. Opening her eyes though, when it really sinks in, it’s like a knife in her chest. She sits up against her headboard, tucking her knees to her chest, too broken to even cry. And then Fergy’s barking his head off and before Lindsey can even make it all the way out of bed, Sonnett’s poking her head in the bedroom. “Brrr,” she says with an exaggerated shiver. “You were right. It’s cold as fuck out there.” Lindsey just stares at her, drink carrier in one hand, Lindsey’s keys in the other. “Get up, sleepyhead. How do you even survive without coffee in this place?” Lindsey follows her. She’s too stunned to say anything. Sonnett turns around and stares back. “What?”

“I buy coffee every day,” Lindsey admits. And then she chokes out, “I thought you were gone.”

“Gone,” Sonnett laughs. “Where would I go? I told the team I didn’t need a room. You’re stuck with me. Even when we beat you tonight. Hey,” Sonnett sets her stuff down. “What’s wrong?” Lindsey’s chin is trembling and she’s fighting back tears. Sonnett reaches up and cups her face, using her thumbs to wipe away the tears just as they fall.

“I thought I lost you again.” Sonnett blinks at the word _again_. She never felt like they lost each other in the first place. But clearly Lindsey did. It makes her regret all the times she thought about calling Lindsey just because but didn’t. She pulls the taller woman into a hug. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt,” Lindsey half sobs into Sonnett’s shoulder. 

“I thought the sound of the zipper on my suitcase would wake Fergy,” Sonnett shrugs. “Besides, I like your clothes better.”

The rest of the morning runs smoothly. Sonnett makes breakfast – avocado toast with eggs and a bowl of oatmeal. It’s like they’re playing in Portland again. The coffee on game days (Sonnett still remembers her order). The same breakfast. They spend a few hours catching up on all their lost time until they have to head to the stadium. 

* * *

Sonnett lets Lindsey drive her straight there instead of to the team hotel to catch the bus. As soon as Lindsey turns out of her parking garage, Sonnett slides her hand into Lindsey’s. “For old times sake,” she says with a wink. And Lindsey wants nothing more than to sag against Sonnett’s body, the same way she would on the bus, because her body remembers.

_They didn’t know that their last bus ride would be their last. The last time they sat next to each other. The last time Lindsey would slide her hand into Sonnett’s. Lean on her shoulder. Steal one of her airpods. The last time they’d change in the locker room together in silence but making probably too-frequent eye contact. The last time Lindsey would smack her ass and say “Fuck it up out there,” before they walked out into the tunnel where people could see them. The last time they’d do their handshake. The last time Sonny would celebrate a Horan header. The last time they’d party it up in a locker room together after a win. After their Victory Tour following the 2024 Olympics in Paris, Sonny never got another call up. It was especially cruel considering the next Olympics were in Los Angeles. Thirty wasn’t old, but the defense was stacked with younger talent. Lindsey spent ages thinking about what she would have done differently that day if she had known it would be their last game together._

It’s cruel, that. To give everything to your country only to receive an ending you don’t know is the end. Lindsey wonders if that will happen to her too. She wonders which goal will be her last. Or if she’s already scored her last and doesn’t even know it yet.

Denver wins, keeping the hope for a playoff birth alongside Atlanta, LA, and North Carolina alive. One more win and Denver can cement that spot, knocking Lindsey’s former team out of contention. But the game is of little importance to her; the person waiting for her in the Visitors’ tunnel is all that matters. 

Cool down. Autographs. A presser. An ice bath. A shower that she’d rather take at her own place, but she doesn’t want to be weird. Discussion of recovery tomorrow. Post-game meal. Lindsey just wants it all over. She wants to go get Sonnett. She wants their fingers linked together and Sonnett leaning into her shoulder. She wants to go home.

By the time they make it back to Lindsey’s condo, the sun is just starting to lower in the autumn sky. They’re both exhausted, and Sonnett is extra drained because she is still fired up over the loss. She ranted the whole way back to Lindsey’s condo, hand in Lindsey’s, head on Lindsey’s shoulder. And she’s still bitching now about some no-call, while sprawled out on Lindsey’s couch. 

“Will you just _shut up_?” Lindsey finally says, opening a kombucha in the kitchen. Sonnett doesn’t shut up. Lindsey stands over her behind the couch and repeats it, a little more insistent this time. Sonnett looks up at her, this “who the fuck are you to tell me to get over a loss” expression on her face, but then Lindsey uses her fingers to press the lines formed by the scowl on Sonnett’s face away and the older woman softens.

“Fine,” she grumbles, grabbing the bottle from Lindsey and taking a big gulp. 

“Ugh, get your own.” Lindsey reaches down and pokes her in the ribs, tickling her, drawing that Sonny laugh out. 

“Get it for me,” Sonnett wails through the laughter. 

Lindsey does. But as Sonnett reaches up for it, Lindsey pulls it away teasingly. “C’mon, I wanna watch the sunset.”

Sonnett looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “It’s fucking cold out there. No.”

Lindsey pulls the blanket Sonnet’s lying on out from under her, effectively toppling Sonnett off the couch. “Come outside and watch the sunset with me.”

Sonnett grumbles. But she follows. And after a few minutes of holding the kombucha bottle, she snakes her freezing hand under the blanket and under Lindsey’s hoodie, pressing it into Lindsey’s ribs. Lindsey squeals and Sonnett falls over in laughter. “Pussy,” she says, righting herself. “You take ice baths every day.” 

It’s not inaccurate. Maybe the sound that escaped Lindsey’s mouth had something to do with the source of that chill. Lindsey buries herself into Sonnett, warming her nose in Sonnett’s neck. “We’ve never watched the sun set together,” Lindsey mumbles into her skin. 

“That’s ridiculous, of course we have,” Sonnett argues, but then she thinks about it. They really haven’t. “I’m sorry,” she whispers back, like she _gets_ that it’s a big deal to Lindsey, this thing that they missed out on. 

They sit there in silence until the sun is down, until it’s dark enough that Lindsey can’t even see Sonnett’s face anymore. Other than their faces, they’re warm like this, bodies wrapped around each other under a thick blanket. Lindsey wants to sit like this forever. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, head against Sonnett’s chest. Sonnett looks down at her. “It’s going to snow.”

Sonnett chuckles. “You keep saying that, and yet,” she looks to the sky, “no snow.”

“It’s going to snow. I know it. I can smell it.” Sonnett’s chuckle turns into a full, incredulous laugh. “What? You said you can smell rain.”

“That’s because it smells like dirt when it’s about to rain. Really, Linds. What does _snow_ smell like?” Sonnett’s voice has taken on that hint of teasing.

“Crisp. Fresh. Fizzy almost.”

Sonnett snorts and gets up, pulling Lindsey to her feet. “I think the cold’s getting to you. Sko inside.”

Lindsey tugs her back away from the door. “It’s going to snow,” she says more insistently.

“Yeah, ok.” Sonnett still doesn’t believe her, but she also doesn’t see why any of this matters.

“If we wake up and it snowed overnight, I want you to stay an extra coupla days.” Sonnett pulls back to look up at her. “What? You have a bye.” 

“And if it doesn’t snow?”

“Then you can go home with your team tomorrow morning.”

“Ok.”

“Is it ok?” Lindsey asks.

“Yeah, I think that’s ok.”

Lindsey envelops her in a hug. Her body remembers all of it. The broad muscular shoulders. The way Sonnett shivers as Lindsey’s hand passes over the small of her back. The cuts of her tapered waist. The feel of her hair brushing Lindsey’s cheek. The smell of her shampoo – the same shampoo she travels everywhere with because she has OCD when it comes to switching brands. The way her face tucks perfectly into Lindsey’s neck. The way Sonnett relaxes against her. The way they fit together, like they’re meant to be. Like the love is still there. Like it never went away.

Lindsey tips Sonnett’s chin up and watches Sonnett’s eyes fall to her lips. She brushes her thumb along Sonnett’s lips. Sonnett doesn’t pull away. And then their lips are moving with a familiarity that neither one of them could have predicted. It’s slow and deep and doesn’t feel at all like they’re running out of time at all.

There are lots of lasts in Lindsey’s life. There are going to be more. But Lindsey knows that this kiss, this moment, it’s not going to be the last time. She’s sure of that. Because the sky had a pink hue and it smells like snow.

**Author's Note:**

> This thought of them not ever falling out, but becoming distant over time popped in my head while out with my dog on a walk one morning in January during CONCACAF qualifying. I hope you like it, because it’s one of my favorites.


End file.
